Sidle, I do Sidle, I don't
by Rianne
Summary: Sara Sidle v's Weddings. My slightly random take on season 6 episode Rashomama!


**Disclaimer:** _Dear The Powers That Be at CBS, Please think of this as more of a respectful homage rather than simple stealing… ;)_

**Author Notes:** _Okay, so I'm still slowly but surely working my way through season 6 and in the future 7, although I've watched 8 already and been watching 9!! Confusing! I know!!_

_Anyway, this week I watched Rashomama for the first time. I don't know about anywhere else, but in the UK the DVD box set has the name of this episode as Roshomama? Anyone?_

_I have to say that I haven't ever laughed like that at CSI before and the only two words I had for the episode were 'Utter Genius!' It was just so fantastic and everybody, all the actors, were so so funny, and the writing was superb! Wonderful, welcome, light relief… (It's just what season 9 needs a little of right about now!!) _

_What I really liked about this episode though, was Sara's whole marriage reaction. She may squirm and squirm and squirm, but I believe the woman doth protest too much… I think she is way more romantic than she likes to admit. Just look at how quickly she accepted Grissom!_

_So this is kind of a missing scene from the episode…it just started dancing around my head at work the other day, I do work hard, really…I do! I promise!_

_Any dialogue borrowed directly from the episode is italicised. (unless FF has been sneaky again and un-italicised it without my permission!)_

_So I guess in the words of the waitress this is my Rorschach response! This one is a little random, but I guess so am I!_

_Please note that although season 6 timeline-wise I have set this after my story Stars in Motion, it is a separate storyline. In this story Sara and Grissom have yet to figure out 'what to do about this…!'_

**Sidle, I do, Sidle, I don't.**

By Rianne

"_Can the love be real when the flowers aren't?"_

She couldn't remember how on earth she got back there.

She'd just opened her eyes and found herself standing there, again.

The crime scene had been released.

The painfully named Cupid's Kiss company, including fake mansion-esque family home, were free to go on hosting more blissfully phoney wedding ceremonies.

That should have been the first clue. First suggestion that something wasn't quite right.

That her camera, and her field kit, were missing, that she wasn't wearing her latex gloves.

They should have been the second set of major warning signs.

After all, she had made a solemn vow to herself, and to Grissom, that she would not let anything work related out of her sight ever again. Not after the utter humiliation she had suffered this morning when all their evidence in the Diane Chase case had been stolen along with Nick's truck as he, she and Greg had shared breakfast together at Frank's.

So the missing stuff, that was weird for an instant.

But, everything else seemed normal enough though.

Well, maybe not normal for her life, but certainly harmless enough.

Her surroundings looked as they had earlier today, but of course the deceased had been taken for her final drive, over to the morgue with Super Dave.

About her cheesy music still played. The tune she vaguely recognised, some muzak'd version of something, where the words had been removed and only the slightest recognisable melody remained.

Ruining some song that had probably once actually been quite romantic.

The room was still almost completely white. Decorated with garlands of plastic flowers, and mounds and mounds and mounds of white fabrics. A row of illuminated oval mirrors brought a touch of the movie star. White curtains, white linens on all the furniture, white walls, white carpets, everything dotted with frivolous silken bows.

Supposed to be a bridal heaven.

Tipped as the most beautiful place in Vegas to host the paramount day of a young woman's life.

God, just the sight of the place was enough to bring out the full force Sara Sidle eye roll.

Fake, fake, phoney, false. It was all that she despised in life.

She just couldn't remember why she was here again.

They had cleared this scene.

This was bad. Short-term memory loss. This just had to be the result of too much overtime. Mixed with too little sleep. And she couldn't say she hadn't been warned.

Grissom must have sent her to look for something.

Although why he would have…

Evidence from a released crime scene would be considered compromised in a court of law and was effectively useless.

Did she come here by herself then?

Was she looking for something she could use to connect the dots in her own mind before she found some legitimate way to convince the culprits to confess?

Hmmm. Now that sounded more likely.

Although Grissom would have a fit if he found out!

But why on earth couldn't she remember?

Maybe he was right about her over working herself.

Last week she had left her full bag of groceries on the roof of her car all day, right through the scorching heat of midday Las Vegas sun. She'd been so tired that she had put them there to find her front door key and had left them there, walking away oblivious.

She'd come back to practically cooked vegetables.

But today had been a pretty good day. She'd had fun with the guys, it had been a while since she and Nick and Greg had worked a case together and the added element of getting into trouble as a group was always bizarrely a bonding experience! She'd missed the way they teased her. Missed the way that they treated her as an equal, but somehow both remembered in their own special way that she was a different species to them.

It was good to flirt and be silly and not mean it.

Light relief compared to her confusing interactions with another co-worker who shall not be named.

So if today had been a good day, why did she suddenly feel like she was loosing her mind?

Maybe she had just used up all her remaining coffee soaked brain cells writing her account of the evidence she had taken at the wedding ceremony for Grissom and IAB.

There was no one else here. She could just take a moment to clear her head. She sank down until she was crouching on the floor, legs to her chest, resting her forehead in her hands, eyes closed.

It would be all right. She just needed a moment of quiet to remember what she had done over the last hour or so. It would come back to her.

This most recent shift had been another marathon. Eleven-hours processing followed by the briefest ever respite of actually sitting her ass down. Followed by several full mouthfuls of breakfast, pancakes with fruit, and a few sips of orange juice. Sadly her tea had still been cooling; she hadn't managed to do more than blow ripples across the liquid surface before Greg had spoken the immortal words;

"Dude, where's your car?"

Wait, wasn't that a film or something?

Her mouth had actually fallen open in shock.

The words foremost in her brain had been, "Oh sh…"

They'd have to call Grissom.

Next minute he was there. Like he had been hiding around the corner all that time.

Hey, maybe he had stolen the car to teach them a lesson for leaving evidence in it! That was an avenue of investigation no one had considered.

But seriously, it was like she'd had just one chance to blink and then he'd appeared. Brass at his side. It had seemed literal split seconds between the end of Nick's frantic telephone call and the moment they had glumly stepped into view, with matching tense shoulders and foreheads and brows.

She had leant back against the building; suddenly defensive as a troubled high schooler who knew she was busted.

Why did she always feel about fifteen years old again when Grissom reprimanded her?

Then there had been a screech of wheels.

Brass had muttered something, mildly amusing like; '_Incoming_."

And Grissom had curtly instructed them that he'd talk.

"You guys just look apologetic."

Then Undersheriff McKeen had been before them and he had opened his mouth and blar after blar after blar had waved over her as shouting often did. If people didn't have the decency to speak at a normal volume, even if they were reprimanding someone, then they didn't deserve to be listened too.

Hey, the guy used the word _'aforementioned.' _

Oh wait, that was the troubled teenager speaking again wasn't it.

McKeen had also growled that both she and Greg had hit that overtime wall. Again. Because, of course, working all these extra hours was just for their monetary gain wasn't it. It wasn't about helping all those poor unfortunate souls and their devastated and bereaved families.

Before long she had found herself frog marched back to the Lab. The boys on her heels, all three with heads down sulking like oversized naughty little school children, reprimanded for not playing where they were told too.

Her feet had been beginning to drag for another reason.

She hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours.

Okay, if she was truly honest she hadn't really slept for about a week. Not properly anyway. Snatches of rest here and there didn't really qualify as sleep.

And yet here she was. Still working.

She did like the irony that in waiting to be processed, i.e. reprimanded, by IAB that she was in fact working way over her overtime limit. Yet, they were the ones who had told her not to go home. Yeah, rules were great; you could break them any time you wanted when you were the ones who made them.

Although hadn't they told her not to leave the Lab?

Then what was she doing here?

Especially as there was nothing left to process. Not that she could see.

She knew she didn't exactly have Grissom's eye, but in a room where everything was white bloodstains and trace evidence weren't easily concealed.

Just one look at the window and then with a blink she was standing by it, surprised to see sunlight when she lifted the gauzy curtains aside. Her body clock was askew with working the nightshift forever and then throwing in all her overtime, but she could have sworn it should be nighttime.

Down beneath the window, from her lofty perch she could see people gathered on the sharp green grass of the lawn.

Formally attired. Penguin suits, pastels floaty, hideous oversized hats.

God she hated weddings.

All those clothes people would never wear again, never be caught dead in on a normal day.

All that air kissing, all that waste of hot air small talk with people you wouldn't speak to again for years and family you had to pretend you knew and remembered.

She watched them wandering about, parading beneath her for a moment or two.

Must be another wedding.

She hoped that one at least had more of a chance than the last.

All that money, for one single day of memories.

All that money spent on welcoming people who didn't really like you anyway, if the Chase/Shoemaker wedding was anything to go by.

Looking over towards the doorway she wondered where the boys had gotten too. Surely they wouldn't have left her alone to process a room this size.

She looked around the room, listening for sounds of anyone else about. For a moment she could have sworn that she saw, and oddly, felt the fabric draped walls waver.

Blinking away what she assumed was an exhaustion induced light-headed spell she waited a moment until she was steady again and then crossed to the door and twisted the handle.

It didn't budge.

That was weird.

Maybe she was turning it the wrong way.

Nope.

"Guys?"

No answer.

"Guys?" she tried again, louder.

No answer.

"I get it. Ha ha," she drawled unamused. "Lock Sidle in the pretty Bridal room, she's terrified of weddings, it'll freak her out."

She paused again. Leaning her ear against the cool wood of the door.

Still nothing.

"This isn't funny you guys."

She was getting pissed now.

Twisting the handle with both hands she slammed her shoulder against the frame. It was hard and cold, but it didn't shift.

Wait a minute. Phone!

Patting her jeans pockets she came up surprisingly empty. Now that was weird. That thing was like an extra appendage to her. Since the day she had replaced her trusty old pager she and that phone had been surgically attached. They ate together, slept together, hell she didn't even go into her bathroom without it.

And hadn't she been wearing her Forensics vest a moment ago.

She pressed her palms to her torso, just beneath the swell of her breast, but found she was only touching her cotton t-shirt where she should have met the waterproof pockets of her vest, where she kept her more vital CSI equipment, like tweezers, pen, flashlight.

Why would she be at a crime scene without her ID?

She could have used those tweezers right now to jigger the lock.

Pressing her palm to the door she pounded against it.

"Hello? Is there anyone out there? I think there is something wrong with this lock?"

Still nothing.

Now that was weird, where was the uniform she must have come here with? If he had wandered off to hit on some vulnerable bridesmaid she'd have his badge.

Hell, Grissom would probably pin him to the ceiling with it after what had happened to Holly Gribbs and to Nick when they had been left alone at a crime scene.

Her eyes darted about the room, the gaudy white taking on a much more sinister hue. Oh God, she was alone, and trapped in a crime scene. A crime scene where no arrests had been made. No killer named. A crime scene where someone was following CSI's around on their off hours to steal valuable evidence which clearly linked them to the murder.

A crime scene possibly linked to the biggest crime family in Las Vegas, the Fatelli family.

As her heart pounded quicker and her palms began to sweat she banged harder on the door.

Unable to hide from the imagined image of herself strung up by her heels and dragged away behind some convertible car.

Oh god, she had to get out of here.

Was the air getting thinner? Her chest was tightening and she couldn't breathe.

"Hello! Anyone… I need some help in here!"

No one came.

Looking about the room she tried to find something that would help her break the lock on the door.

Nope, no baseball bats, or lockpicks in here.

Probably to deter the brides from using them for an easy escape when they got cold feet. Or found the groom with a bridesmaid. Or heard about the antics of the bachelor party.

Beneath a table, half covered by a gauzy scrap of linen she noticed something.

Practically crawling over, lifting the fabric, she pulled out what looked like an overnight bag, or small suitcase.

She didn't want to snoop, but maybe there would be something of use in there.

It was worth a try before she went completely out of her mind.

The sound of the zip was loud.

Parting the folds of the bag she peered inside, clothes, women's clothes, bright colours, underwear, and a sun hat. No phone though.

Damn it. She could have at least rung PD or the Lab and passed an SOS message on that way.

Not even a hairpin, not that she believed she would be able to open a lock with one. That had to just be in the movies.

At the bottom of the bag something black caught her eye.

Wait, that hadn't been there before.

Reaching back inside the bag, her fingers scrabbled for the little book.

It could be the missing piece of evidence that they needed.

Drawing it out she was surprised to find a passport.

Flicking to the back page she couldn't fight the wave of nausea that swept from her stomach right to her lips in a heave.

It was her passport.

Her slightly dated, terrible hair day picture, gazed uncomfortably back at her.

Oh God! What was going on here?

Was this some kind of sick joke?

There was a sudden sound outside the window. An unexpected cry of amusement followed by a resounding wave of cheering and laughter.

The people. There were people outside.

How had she forgotten that?

Forgetting the passport, it slipped slowly from her hold, dangling a moment from her cold fingertips, before falling to the floor and vanishing completely.

She was over at the window in a moment, curtain drawn back.

Everyone was at the wedding, that's why they couldn't hear her. Surely that was it.

There were still people milling about on the lawn. Glasses of champagne in hand as they meandered aimlessly.

She tried to open the window, locked. She wiggled the handle, nothing. She pressed against the frame feeling the wood scratch against her palms. Nothing.

"Hey!" she cried, knocking sharply on the glass. Beneath her no one looked up. Blissfully absorbed in the sweet icing sugar farce.

"Oh come on!"

Exasperation and fear and exhaustion mounted. She was not going to cry. She wasn't four and lost in a department store, she was merely accidentally stuck in a room at a painfully fancy wedding.

A fancy wedding where a murder had been committed.

She banged against the glass again, then again and again.

She tried shouting again, hating the way her voice sounded so frightened, but she was getting desperate and she would rather be laughed at, even if they were winding her up, than be seriously stuck and forgotten about.

But it wasn't working.

And where was the Bride?

Shouldn't she be in here getting herself ready to be handed over, as they so charmingly put it?

She needed to come up with a new plan before she lost her voice completely and bruised the hell out of both of her hands.

Forcing herself to relax she placed both palms to her chest, drawing a series of slow calming breaths.

"Sara?"

She whirled at the sound, so startled she almost shrieked.

"You're not dressed!" the voice admonished horrified.

Catherine stood before her. Dressed to the nines in a slinky cream tailored suit.

"Catherine! Wait. How did you get in?"

Ignoring her, Catherine came rushing forwards, arms frantically outstretched.

Sidestepping her fluidly Sara crossed the room in quick strides, grasping hold of the door.

"What's going on here?" She demanded sharply. Twisting the handle, feeling the easy motion under her fingers. "How did you unlock this door?"

"Sara?" Catherine's face was the epitome of confusion. "What are you babbling about? You were trying to lock us out? What are you playing at?" She was shaking her head making her perfectly coiffured curls bounce, but a grin was breaking across her face.

"You can't fool us," Catherine continued. "We all know how excited you are about today really."

When Sara could only gasp exasperatedly at her, with wild eyes, Catherine took hold of her arm and guiding her over to a chair, pressed on her shoulders to make her sit.

"If you don't stop waving your arms around like that you'll ruin your hair." Catherine muttered.

Wait, wasn't her hair just naturally around her shoulders a moment ago?

Hang on a minute, now it wasn't, she tilted her head from side to side, but there was no shady curtain of brunette waves.

As Catherine continued to fuss and stare oddly at her, Sara slowly and surreptitiously leaned sideways, angling herself so she could see around her friend to her own image displayed in the full-length mirror on the wall across.

Around her the room tilted on its axis, blurring before flicking back again.

Oh God. Her hair was up, styled up.

She blinked.

That was odd.

Had she somehow ingested some kind of drugs today?

Had the murderer put them in her food? Her water? Was it injected? From skin-to-skin contact?

Catherine was talking again, murmuring about staying calm and cold feet and wonderful day.

But Sara was too busy wondering why Catherine was there at all. She hadn't been working this crime scene. Her work on this case had been done at the Lab.

The next few minutes were a Catherine Willows controlled blur as her clothes were dragged from her body.

She kept gasping, trying to speak but she wasn't given even the slightest chance. Her mind was just…

The dizziness was returning, making the room a cloudy swirl of white.

Then the moment came. Catherine stepped back, leaving her standing swaying like a baby fawn, dressed only in a delicate white underwear set.

Whoa! Dressed in what? Why was Catherine taking her clothes? Why was she letting her?

With a look of horror she crossed her arms protectively across herself. Ready to snatch back the articles, when with a broad smile Catherine disappeared a moment and then reappeared with Sara's worst nightmare.

A long white wedding dress.

Whoa, what?!

Wait, she wasn't getting married, no, no, no.

Her head swung wildly from side to side.

She wasn't even dating.

This was a joke right?

Yeah. Ha ha… very funny…

It was torture Sara day.

She had to be dreaming?

She wasn't getting married.

Not like this.

She didn't want a wedding with fake flowers.

Fake flowers and no love.

If they wouldn't even fork out for real blooms…

Wait…What on earth was she thinking about that for!

She hadn't hit her head recently had she? Not that she would be able to tell under all the lacquer and the pins.

She couldn't be getting married. She wasn't even dating! She hadn't had the time to date recently.

No, of course that wasn't an excuse!

Yet looking down at her fingers there it was. An engagement ring. Glittering beautifully.

"Arms up." Catherine commanded.

She lifted them. Why wasn't she resisting. Why wasn't she running for the hills?

She felt the sensual cool as Catherine eased the silken slip of the dress over her head.

Wait, who was she marrying?

That one stopped her in her tracks.

Yet, only one man's face appeared to her.

No. He would never…

No. She was definitely dreaming, so how did she wake up?

Taking the flesh of her wrist between finger and thumb she pinched hard, but she felt nothing.

She did it again and again, but the skin didn't even pinken beneath her assault.

She raised her palm and tried to violently slap herself awake, but each attempt seemed futile, like she lost her strength just millimetres from making connection with her skin.

So she was dreaming.

And it seemed it wasn't to be over yet.

Around her the room swam again.

No. NO NO! She wasn't getting married. Not even in her dreams.

She didn't even like going to weddings.

She didn't want to become someone's wife. Someone's possession.

What had she called the institution of marriage this morning…

Oh, yeah, _"Like becoming property exchanged between your father and your husband."_

Except she didn't have a father, and when she woke up this morning she hadn't even had a prospective boyfriend. She did have a few dreams to that end of course, a certain man, who _'couldn't do it,'_ was always there in the background somewhere. But she hadn't been with anyone for longer than she liked to admit.

Yet here she stood.

Looking like the epitome of the perfect Bride.

Long dress, white shoes, make-up.

Catherine was still fussing about her, twittering and smiling.

Then Sara found herself being turned.

She came face to face with herself in the mirror.

For a moment nothing happened.

Then she couldn't see as she tried to blink away the welling tears that filled her eyes.

Wow.

Oh, wow.

Who was that woman standing before her?

She was beautiful.

So, that was what a little make-up and a hairbrush could do.

Even the dress was nice. No puffy, stupid, ruffly thing.

It was sleek, simple, long. It made her look graceful instead of gangly and scrawny.

A plain white veil floated about her shoulders. Real flowers were tangled in her curls like they belonged there.

Her fingers reached out, as if to touch the reflection in the mirror.

By her shoulder she could see Catherine smiling, and she could have sworn there were tears in her eyes too.

But this was stupid. She didn't have dreams like this.

She had dreams where victims screamed; where things chased her that she couldn't see. Occasionally she had the odd 'faceless' (who was she kidding) erotic dream where she'd wake up panting and hot, but nothing like this.

She hadn't had a dream where she knew she was dreaming for years. And then it certainly hadn't been about weddings. Smaltzy romance just wasn't in her make up.

She left that to the hopeless romantics, like Nicholas Stokes.

But if she was dreaming. And she knew it. Did this mean that she could control the dream? Was she calling the shots?

Was she supposed to fill in the blanks?

Oh, God. Maybe that was the catch here. Maybe the husband was going to be her worst nightmare.

Maybe it was Ecklie. Or McKeen. Or that guy who had stalked Nicky. Or even that drunken guy from today, Bryce, was it?

Even her unconscious couldn't be that awful to her, right? Although Bryce's had been the only profession of 'love' she'd received lately…

Shortly before he had fallen face first into an unconscious heap. Yeah, that had been awesome.

It really spoke to the Sara Sidle magic.

"Awww, look at that. Your rejection broke his little heart."

And, for the record: she had NOT been flirting. Not with the best man either. Far too short! Marginally better manners though.

But no, she'd never be with any of those guys, they were what ten years younger than her?

Plus there was the whole drinker mentality that she was supposed to avoid now.

No fun for Sara.

The knock at the door startled both of them.

"Sara?" came the chorus of familiar voices through the door, which was somehow closed again.

"How you doin', sweetheart. Did you run for the hills yet?!" Nick added, followed by Greg's,

"It's not too late, I've a convertible waiting outside with our names on it!"

"Guys!" she cried, spinning away from Catherine and the mirror.

They were here to save her from this weirdness.

They'd probably break in and find her collapsed in an exhausted heap on the floor, surrounded by plastic white flowers that she had 'unconsciously' destroyed.

Reaching the door she made to drag it open, but Catherine reached her first, pulling her back with a hand of steel.

"No!" she cried. " They can't see you before the wedding! It'll spoil the surprise!"

"What am I marrying Greg and Nick now?" she asked.

Actually posing the question as a genuine one, but Catherine dismissed her with a laugh.

"You know what I mean!"

She heard the boys footsteps fade as they withdrew. Tails literally between their legs she imagined after Catherine's yelling.

Well she knew two more things now. Her intended wasn't Greg or Nick. She wasn't secretly pining to be a Mrs Sanders or a Mrs Stokes.

Mrs Sara Gri…

NO! Damn it!

No hopes up, even in a dream.

"Oh, before I forget," Catherine announced, scurrying across the room in her fancy heels and returning with a shiny wrapped box.

Sara took it like it might contain a bomb.

Hey, this was her dream, it just might.

But it wasn't, pulling off the paper; she cautiously lifted the lid to reveal a very slinky, sensual looking white satin nightie.

She couldn't help the way her eyebrows rose in surprised delight.

Even she had enough of a girlie side to recognise that it was gorgeous.

"You're welcome," Catherine intoned, "He'll just die when he sees you in that!"

Oh, so there was an actual husband to be then.

Her inner devil begged her to ask, like she'd never wanted to ask anything before, but she couldn't form the words. It seemed she didn't have as much power over this dream as she would have liked.

That sucked.

So there wouldn't be any honeymoon on a desert island then?

Oh well, she freckled too much in the sun anyway.

Another knock at the door drew her attention, although this one was deeper. It sounded more like a death knell.

Oh sh…

"It's time!" Catherine squealed excitedly.

Drawing open the door Catherine revealed Jim Brass standing in the hallway beyond, fidgeting in his constricting penguin suit.

She couldn't help but blush when his mouth fell open as he drank in the sight before him.

"Oh Kiddo," he muttered the affection in his voice undeniable, before clearing his throat uncomfortable with the show of emotion he could barely contain.

He held out his arm to her.

So this was it. She was dreaming right?

She hadn't gotten drunk again and this time instead of driving merrily around Vegas, just asking for a DUI, please somebody tell her that she hadn't managed to loose at least a few seemingly vital months of her life, and her memory, had she?

It was the Sidle genes that made her so partial to a good drink after all.

Whoa, Sidle, getting married would mean giving up that name. She had spent her entire teenage years hoping she could change it. She'd have taken anything other than that back then.

But now the idea of loosing it, of being Sara something else, Sara Gri…

Damn it! I said no. Not even in a dream.

But hey, at least she'd realised that she wanted to keep her own name.

Not that it mattered, as she had absolutely no intentions of getting married.

Even now, in this dream.

With a spurt of energy she didn't know she possessed she made a run for it.

Ducking past a startled Brass, and his extended arm with a basketball player's ease she bolted, dashing wildly down the hall, stumbling twice in the stupid unfamiliar shoes before she kicked them to the curb. Continuing on in her bare feet.

She could hear Catherine calling wildly after her.

That was why brides were put in high heels, so they couldn't run. Julia Roberts had the right idea, sneakers under the dress! Runaway bride! It didn't seem such a stupid movie now did it.

This place was like a maze, corridor after corridor, hallway after hallway, all of them looking exactly the same.

Finally, just when she was thinking seriously about reporting Cupid's Kiss for serious fire safety code violations she came across what she had been searching for.

A nice big door with huge and green illuminated letters above it.

EXIT.

Perfect!

Still running full force, her dress held up around her mid calf like a medieval princess she plowed right through the door, releasing the catch.

And right into Brass's waiting arms.

"There you are!" he cried laughing. "You knew we wouldn't let you get away."

"No… NO… NO… NO!"

She was shaking her head and fighting against the hands he laid on her shoulders.

"It's going to be fine," he carried on, using his soothe the suspect before he slapped them, voice. Completely ignoring her obvious distress he began to escort her over to the outdoor aisle.

Yet the more she wiggled and fought the tighter his grip became and before long the outdoor seating, filled with people was coming into view.

And they were turning, looking behind them to hear what the noise was and Brass was smothering her cries with an arm about her shoulders and her feet weren't quiet touching the floor.

"If you promise to be quiet and stay still, I'll let you go." He uttered breathlessly, struggling to keep her steady.

"You've got to promise that you won't bolt again the minute I put you down." He bartered.

She fought a few seconds longer, just to save face, before slackening in his arms in defeat.

"You promise?" he confirmed again.

She nodded against his arm, unable to actually speak.

He lowered her to the ground like she was a china doll.

"Okay."

But as soon as her bare feet touched grass she was in motion again, like a spring tightly wound.

"SARA!" Brass cried, swiping his arm to grab her and missing. "Don't you know how much he loves you?"

That halted her in her tracks, the silken train of her dress curling around her legs at the motion.

Loves her?

"You know that right? It's taken you so long to get him to the alter. To be honest I'd expected him to be the one to fight and try and escape, not you."

Brass was smiling softly, gone was the man who had held her down by force.

Loves her?

She couldn't deny herself any longer. She had to know.

It was Grissom wasn't it?

She was dreaming about marrying Grissom?

Right?

Why did the voice in her head sound so hopeful?

And it seemed that as she wasn't getting to run, maybe she should at least find out?

God, had she angered her body this much with all her junk food and insomnia, that even her own dreams went against her wishes?

Or did they? Did she really 'dream' about marrying Grissom?

It seemed the only way she'd find out was if she cooperated and walked down the aisle like a good little minion.

So with straightened shoulders she marched back over to where Brass waited.

She took the arm proffered. A large bouquet of white roses, appearing as if from nowhere, were also accepted.

She would have liked to keep those, they were pretty.

With a nod from Brass to someone she couldn't see, out of view a band announced her arrival with a sudden melodious surge of 'The Wedding March'.

It's just a dream she kept telling herself. Just a dream.

But that didn't stop the tremor in her hands or the way that her legs wobbled like they wouldn't support her for much longer.

She was suddenly glad of the long dress.

It was just a dream. She wasn't stepping into anything legally binding or life altering here.

So why was she suddenly so nervous?

Just a dream.

The guests in the seats were turning, straining to see what she looked like in her dress.

Her heart was pounding, so many people. All looking at her.

Faces she knew, people from work, her neighbours, wait, was that they guy who ran the local coffee shop? Wait, was that the curly Sidle hair of her brother? Surely not, they hadn't spoken in years, and that meant the woman beside him wasn't who she thought it was either.

No. If she really had control over this dream her family would not have been here.

Her attention swept over all of them, Wendy, Hodges, god she wouldn't have invited him either, Judy, Doc Robbin's, but not to where she wanted to look the most.

Was it him?

She could see the edge of a broad shoulder beneath a dark charcoal suit, but before she could see any more the congregation were all asked to stand for the Bride's arrival and the shoulder was swallowed in a sea of black and pastel and white.

Then she and Brass were at the first row of seats, the music was swelling again. She was about to do this thing…

With a reassuring squeeze on the arm from Brass they both took a step forward.

But she didn't go where she was supposed to.

Her bare toe tangled with the hem at the front of her dress, the absence of her shoes making it just that little bit too long.

It was like it happened in slow motion, she swayed, she flailed, she tried to reach for Brass, but he was no longer by her side.

Some help he was.

Then she was falling, face first into the grass before her.

Then she hit the ground.

The scratchy wet stems were against her forehead, venturing up her nose.

The beautiful dress must be ruined.

Around her a collective gasp of horror resounded, then more noise, the crashes of people trying to clamber out of their orderly seating to help her.

But she just lay there. Sprawled. Defeated.

This was just great.

Typical.

She couldn't even walk down the aisle gracefully in her own dream wedding.

And she still didn't know who the groom was.

Or did she?

Had she imagined the flash of grey curls astride a smart charcoal suit that she had seen on the way down to the ground?

Had she imagined?

Hell, this whole thing was imaginary. Her tired mind playing games.

"Sara?"

It was Catherine's voice. Catherine would help her.

"Sara?" There it was again.

She opened her eyes.

The grass was gone, the sunshine was gone, and all the people were gone.

She was in the locker room. Face down on the bench. Asleep.

It smelt of socks, and sweaty CSI's.

The bench had made what would probably be indelible lines in her side and her back.

Catherine was standing in the doorway, illuminated by the light beyond.

Wait had she been dreaming? She tried to break the unfamiliar fog of sleep.

"IAB here?" she murmured without really engaging her brain.

It needed serious coffee juice first.

She swung her legs down, sitting herself up in one fluid motion.

Her hair was everywhere. She hadn't had a shower in way too long to think about. She was wearing the clothes she had picked out days ago.

Hmmm. She must look pretty.

"_No_," Catherine was speaking again. Sara moved her mouth. She needed a toothbrush too.

"_They're still held up with that officer-involved shooting, but the bomb squad has cleared the convertible._"

"_Oh_," she murmured, that was news at least.

"_Finally ..."_ she sighed, forcing herself to stand, _"something to process."_

Catherine slipped away, whilst Sara, smoothed down her clothes, fought to control her hair.

As she ran her hand through the wild sleep induced tangles, a few stray strands of grass fluttered free and floated slowly to the ground.

She watched them fall with an odd sense of déjà vu.

Then with a shake of the head she went to meet Greg in the garage.

The processing of the convertible went well. It was always great working with Greg and Nick, they had a way of lifting her spirits on even her lowest of days.

They had plenty of evidence to go on once they opened the cars trunk.

Bloody towels in snowboard equipment bags.

Greg had handled those, Nick the printing of the rear of the car, whilst she had unpacked the other luggage, the honeymoon kit.

All that had been legitimate, but one item had given her pause.

A white piece of silky nightwear.

It was pretty, nothing she would choose to wear, she had to admit that these days she was more of an old T-shirt kind of girl, but something about this piece caught her attention.

She found herself holding it up to her own body, gazing down at the silken fabric against her.

She had a sudden flash of holding a very similar piece whilst Catherine smiled happily at her.

That was weird. She couldn't remember that ever actually happening.

She must have dreamed it.

Unfortunately she hadn't put the garment back in the bag before she had opened her big mouth to Nick and calmly told him, _'We need your hands.'_

Yeah, that had been stupid.

But his reply of; _'I thought you'd never ask.' _Had made her blush, and she had fiddled with her hair suddenly aware of herself and embarrassed. He'd been teasing of course, but sadly that was the most attention she had received from a male recently.

God, she needed to get a life.

They'd staggered on. Battling overwhelming fatigue.

Greg had found the pills that drugged the deceased. Wendy had ID'd the bloody towels and epithelial's on the bag.

Nick had stormed off grumpily, only to find the bridesmaid had transferred blood all over his jacket and t-shirt. But it had helped solve the case.

Then there had been a little amusement when Nick' s car had been returned looking like the pimpmobile; that had been kind of funny.

She and Greg had laid out the method for killing Mrs Chase.

Death by cupid, it seemed. How ironic.

Yet cupid this time had been another piece of falseness in all its finery. The statue's arrow firmly lodged in Diane Chase's skull.

Although as far as Sara was concerned shooting people with arrows had always sounded pretty barbaric to her.

They'd finally narrowed the killers down to several bridesmaids and for accessory and stealing Nick's car and all the evidence, the brother of the bride. Of course.

Seemed it wasn't only paying for the wedding that was murder…

Oh dear… that was bad.

Finding themselves back in the break room around the table. She'd mainly just been glad to sit down. And to eat. Coffee and a sandwich, had never tasted so good.

They'd paged Grissom and he had arrived, ready and impatient to hear their breakdown of the case. Clearly short tempered after spending hours busy smoothing and fixing things with the powers that be.

Just what he hated the most. Political sweet-talking.

She would have actually felt rather sorry for him. If she hadn't already been busy feeling quite sorry for herself at this point.

She was rather happy to let Greg start off on his spiel. He seemed in full steam, and it was only fair, seen as how he was younger and seemed to have untapped energy reserves somewhere on that wiry frame of his.

It was only when Grissom began to speak that she had another of those weird déjà vu flickers again.

Greg voice filled her brain, saying something about convertibles and running for the hills.

Weird.

Grissom took a seat, continuing to talk about bridesmaids, something he had told her about years ago, she couldn't for the life of her remember when.

"Did you know the original role of the bridesmaid was to act as a human shield against the bride's enemies?"

"_Women would dress similar to the bride in an effort to confuse and outsmart evil spirits that might try to overtake her on her wedding day."_ She parroted, able to pretty much quote him word for word.

She loved it when she could do that, as she knew just how much it freaked him out!

But tonight he just smiled nodding in recognition of his own words.

Then Nicky just had to go and spoil the moment.

"Wow, for somebody who's anti-wedding, you certainly know a lot about it."

Great, just great, he had to go and mention that in front of Grissom.

Wait, why would she care that Grissom might think she never wanted to get married.

Suddenly her defensive response wasn't coming from just her short temper, as her sandwich was suddenly replaced by the image of white roses in her hand.

She blinked and her peanut butter on white was back.

Oh God, she needed serious sleep.

No, more coffee tonight.

"I'm not anti-wedding. I'm just anti-stupid -- you know, people who do things for the sake of tradition with no clue as to why."

Whoa, where had that come from?

It was right up there with several sudden new thoughts. The main ones being that maybe a wedding wouldn't be so bad, as long as she could call the shots, and it was small and private and simple. And as long as it was to the right guy, of course. And as long as the flowers and the love were both real.

God, she must have been spending too much time with Nick.

The romance was rubbing off on her.

Yeah, that must be it.

She blinked and bit into her sandwich again for something distracting to do.

Then as if Grissom sensed the outright war which could brew from these loaded statements, he shook his head at Sara's bizarrely defensive response and then he cut them off at the roots drawing their attention back to the breakdown of the case again, and there they had remained. Right up until IAB had finally showed their faces. Whilst across town at the station Brass had taken the statements of the accused.

It was hours later and almost growing light again when she wandered past Grissom's office, finally on her way home. Yet his light was still on. He was probably stuck writing up all the extra legal paperwork their little mishap had caused him.

She should say goodnight, but she was more than tired and she suspected he was too and that usually meant he wasn't in the best of moods. And she really needed to get herself a shower and some sleep, and not necessarily in that order. She certainly wasn't looking her usual alluring best right now! Yeah right!

Keeping her head low she continued to stalk on past until his voice called to her.

It was just her name and it was softly, she almost carried on walking sure that she had imagined it. Had it not been for the fact that he stood up from his chair. Or for the fact that he was smiling as she approached, she would have sworn she had misheard.

Damn it, why didn't she at least brush her hair!

He sat again, leaving her hovering.

He looked curiously nervous, shifty, and uncomfortable. Like he needed to ask her something.

Well it couldn't be another case, she had yet to sleep off the last one and he'd already been reprimanded once in the last twenty-four hours about her and her overtime again, so it couldn't be that.

The idea that it might be something as unpleasant, like work to take home, crossed her mind.

He was twisting his fingers.

He cleared his throat.

"Sara," he began in a rush. "Did you see the convention flyer I put in your locker?"

Convention flyer? For all the time she'd spent in the locker room tonight she hadn't opened her actual locker! But he was putting notes in it now it seemed! How junior high.

She shook her head, her eyebrows rising.

He didn't speak again for an extended pause, which made her a more and more uncomfortable.

"Should I go look at it now?" she asked slowly, trying to keep the exhaustion from her voice.

She was way too tired for another of their lengthy and exhausting things right now.

"No," he laughed softly. Taking another breath before he continued, "it's a conference in Reno about a whole range of forensic based entomological techniques, they've asked me to host a seminar. And as you have shown an interest in learning more…"

His voice faded out.

This wasn't what her leaping heart had suddenly decided it was…was it? Because it was just about to jump right out of her chest, and she needed it, it was a pretty vital organ.

Her heart wasn't his plaything anymore. She had tried to promise herself that.

"Well, I wondered if you'd like to come. With me. I know how you like a good convention." He managed to babble without a breath.

She knew her eyes were wide with surprise and that she wasn't hiding her pleasure at his invite well enough but she wanted to squeal so badly that it was hard enough to control that one impulse, she didn't have the brain power left over to control the rest.

"Yes, I do." She replied. The words sounding weirdly familiar.

"And I do too," he added, his face a little bemused, but he shook it before carrying on talking, but Sara heard none of it.

She blinked suddenly as a violent wave of remembrance crashed.

Triggered by the words, 'I do.'

Oh God, she'd dreamed about marrying Grissom!

That's what all of the weird flashes had been about! She must have been dreaming when she had fallen asleep in the locker room!

Wow this case had sure done a number on her if she'd been dreaming that she was _marrying_ Grissom.

Marrying Grissom!

Preparing to say 'I DO!' In a white dress, at a big fancy ceremony. Brass and the guys had been there, Catherine too, and she'd been bare foot and running, running where? And had she really fallen in a heap on the ground in front of everyone?

It was just pieces, crazy messed up fragments.

Her forehead creased as she tried to make sense of it, but as it often was with snatches of remembered dreams, the harder you tried to piece it all together the more it slipped teasingly from you brain!

She huffed softly, barely managing to restrain the giggle that welled up inside her.

God help her if she had been talking in her sleep!

Oh she really needed to go home.

Go home and curl into bed and bury her excited girlie squeals into her pillow at the prospect of going to a conference with Grissom.

"Sara?" his words cut through her daydreams.

"Sorry," she murmured, dazed.

"So would you like to come? With me?"

"Yes!" How did she manage to sound so calm? "That'd be great."

She smiled, watching as his expression, now so much more relaxed, spread into a smile too.

"Okay." He added with a nod. He actually looked shy. Him, the man who could stand up in front of thousands of people and lecture.

She returned his nod, her smile quirking in that way she had. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight."

She stepped away from his desk, crossing to the door.

And she could have sworn he whispered, 'sweet dreams' as she disappeared out into the corridor.

If only he knew!


End file.
